


maybe just a way home

by reinventweather (theadmiral)



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:32:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadmiral/pseuds/reinventweather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt has to work over Easter, so he can't go home to see his Dad. Blaine tries to cheer him up with chocolate. Future!fic, where they live and work in NYC and are engaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe just a way home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [froggydarren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/gifts).



> Thank you for the lovely prompt, Jen!

The problem with living in New York City is that Easter is just another Sunday, really. Even though it’s been years since Kurt lived in Ohio, he’s still taken aback that Easter isn’t a four-day weekend. Sure, there are old ladies dressed in their Sunday best crowding restaurants and little kids looking for plastic eggs in Central Park, but it’s not the same as a town that shuts down for the holiday. It’s bad enough he has to work today, but because he had a full schedule, he and Blaine couldn’t even find the time to fly home to see his Dad and Carole. Kurt hoists his Tony Perotti bag (well, technically it’s Blaine’s, but Kurt claimed it as his when they moved in together, and Blaine hasn’t asked for it back yet) higher on the shoulder and heads down into the subway.

It only takes Kurt a half hour to get home from the Vogue offices, but today a half hour is too long. Ever since Isabelle convinced him to work for Voguefulltime after finishing his degree, weekends have been only a myth of Arthurian proportions to Kurt. Blaine might work weekends as well but at least he works from their living room, giving private piano lessons to his middle schoolers. It’s Kurt that has to trek to Manhattan and back, even on the days that the office isn’t even open (and it’s Kurt that gets home late and misses dinner because of a big shoot that week, it’s Kurt that has to call late at night to let Blaine know he’s staying at Rachel’s because he has to finish a piece before morning). He loves his coworkers, he loves his job, but he loves his fiance more. 

Kurt doesn’t get it out from underneath his shirt, but he can feel the weight of his engagement ring against his chest. ‘His ring,’ he’s finally thinking; it’s taken him three months to stop calling it ‘my mother’s ring.’ He can remember playing with it on her hand and asking her to tell him the story of when Daddy proposed. ‘Again?’ she would ask, but tell the story anyway: the fancy restaurant, the bouquet of roses, his rambling speech about not knowing anything about romance but wanting to know everything about her. Kurt would twist the ring around her finger and imagine what it would be like to have someone love you so completely to want to know everything, even the icky bits. Blaine had been a little more suave - asking Burt for the ring (and subtly his permission, Kurt knows, though neither of them phrased it like that), taking Kurt on a stroll through Central Park in the snow, kissing him by the Christmas tree near the Met, setting Kurt down on those gorgeous steps and asking him if he’d do him the honor of agreeing to spend the rest of their lives together.

Only a few stops away from home, Kurt gathers his things and moves toward the door, checking his watch. It’s only five (what does that say about his life when he thinks coming home at five on a Sunday is early); Blaine isn’t expecting him home until dark. He races out of the station and toward their brownstone. The door is open, and Kurt can hear the piano through the screen door. Opening the door carefully, he sneaks in. Blaine’s singing about Peter Cottontail hoppin’ down the bunny trail, and Kurt smiles.

“I’m home,” Kurt calls out, and the piano stops. Making his way into the kitchen, Kurt tosses his bag by the stairs and round the corner. Something’s cooking in the oven, but that’s not what Kurt notices first. Sitting on the table is a  giant colorful monstrosity; on closer inspection, Kurt can see the Cadbury Creme Eggs, bunched together like a bouquet. 

“Blaine-” he calls again, but Kurt’s interrupted by Blaine wrapping his arms around him, pressed up against his back, nose buried in the nape of his neck.

“You’re home,” Blaine says into his skin, hands on Kurt’s stomach.

“Isabelle took pity on me and sent me home to my, and I quote, boy toy of a husband,” Kurt smirks, turning around in Blaine’s arms. He kisses him chastely, arms coming up around Blaine’s neck.

“Not a very exciting boy toy, I’m afraid,” Blaine says, voice sparkling. “I spent all day planning lessons for the next few weeks.”

“And singing preschool songs, I heard.” Blaine chuckles, looking down for a second before looking back up at Kurt. Kurt shrugs. “It was cute. You’re cute, Mr. Anderson, you and your bouquet of chocolate.” Blaine leans in for another kiss, a little needy. Kurt pulls Blaine in closer, opening his mouth for Blaine’s tongue. 

“And hot,” Kurt adds, sliding his hands down to Blaine’s ass. Blaine whimpers in his mouth, and Kurt makes the decision right there. Fuck dinner, all he wants right now is Blaine beneath him. Kurt pulls back, looking into Blaine’s eyes.

“Still got another half hour on dinner,” Blaine says, licking his lips, pulling Kurt towards the stairs. Following into their bedroom, Kurt sheds his shirt and pants, tossing them over the chair as Blaine strips as well, leaving his clothes strewn across the floor. Kurt climbs onto their bed, pulling Blaine down on top of him. The weight of Blaine’s body is familiar, something that Kurt has become used to but never tire of. Their legs fit together with ease, something only achieved with their years of practice, and Kurt pulls Blaine down into a hard kiss, wrapping his fingers in Blaine’s hair. 

Blaine reaches over to the nightstand, scrambling at the drawer for the lube. They haven’t used condoms for a year now, since that first night in their place when they had given up unpacking. It wasn’t until Blaine had been stretched open, whining for Kurt, that they realized they had no idea where the condoms were (Kurt loves it, loves being in Blaine with nothing between them). 

Kurt strokes himself, watching Blaine above him, Blaine reaching back and stretching himself open. It’s quicker this way - Kurt loves to do it when they have the time, but today he just wants to be inside him as soon as possible. Blaine’s mouth falls open, and Kurt’s hips buck up. Blaine smiles down at Kurt before dropping into a kiss. Kurt grabs at Blaine’s ass, licking into his mouth. Reaching for Kurt, Blaine positions himself and slides down, moaning into Kurt’s mouth. Kurt matches Blaine’s rhythm, holding hard onto Blaine’s hips, thumbs pressed against the bone there. 

Kurt takes Blaine’s cock in his hand and pulls, sharp and fast. Blaine rolls his hips and Kurt cries out, nails digging into Blaine’s back. Blaine begins to move faster, fucking into Kurt’s fist as he rides Kurt, and soon enough, Blaine comes all over Kurt’s stomach, clenching around Kurt, shoving their lips together. It only takes Kurt a few more moments before he’s coming too, sucking on Blaine’s tongue, hands in Blaine’s hair. 

Blaine shoves his face into Kurt’s neck, kissing softly, hands sliding up and down Kurt’s sides. Kurt’s happy to just lie there and catch his breath, fingers stroking through Blaine’s curls. He laughs a little when Blaine mumbles something into his skin, his warm breath tickling Kurt.

“I didn’t catch that, love,” Kurt says, pressing their feet together. Blaine pulls up a little and props his head up, looking directly at Kurt. 

“‘I’ve missed you,’ is what I said,” Blaine says again, not ashamed or sheepish, only a little wistful. 

“Me too,” Kurt says, kissing him softly. “I’ll try to be better about it. I really do want to come home to you every night.”

“I know,” Blaine says, scrunching his nose. “I’ve never doubted that.” Kurt kisses him again, insistent this time. Blaine just smiles, gets up and heads toward the bathroom. 

“I’m going to go grab dinner,” Blaine says after a few minutes in the bathroom, throwing a warm washcloth at Kurt. “You clean up, and I’ll bring you your baked macaroni and cheese.” Kurt watches Blaine leave before wiping himself down and tossing the rag toward the hamper. Blaine comes back in, still naked, with a full tray: two bowls of mac and cheese, two glasses of water, silverware, and a couple Cadbury Creme eggs. Kurt immediately grabs an egg when Blaine sets the tray down; Blaine raises his eyebrows as he climbs into bed.

“What? It’s just one egg,” Kurt says, unwrapping it. “You bought me chocolate, and I intend to eat it.” Blaine rolls his eyes, but Kurt still bites into the almost-too-sweet egg and licks out the creme filling. Snatching the remaining chocolate, Blaine pops it into his mouth, smirking at Kurt as he bites down. Kurt leans in for a kiss - Blaine tastes like chocolate, a perfect balance to the sweet, sugary creme. When Kurt pulls back, he’s still licking his lips. 

“You know, Cadbury Creme eggs were never my favorite growing up,” Blaine says, taking a bite of his mac and cheese, pretending to be non-chalant. “But I think I might start craving them.”

Kurt smiles around the rim of his water glass. No four-day holiday this year, no time off, no dinner with Dad and Carole, but he had Cadbury eggs and his beautiful husband-to-be. Sometimes it’s nice to start new traditions.


End file.
